by Barry Reese
All three of them bolted from their hiding places, sprinting towards the gangplank that led onto the yacht. By the time they arrived on the boat, another cultist had stepped out from the bowels of the ship. The Peregrine pointed his pistol and pulled the trigger, spraying the man’s brains into the air. The sound of the gunshot brought more men to the upper deck but they found themselves confronted by three well-trained fighters who had nothing to lose.
While Gravedigger routinely killed her foes, both Lazarus and The Peregrine usually tried to avoid this. Under these circumstances—and knowing full well that if they succeeded, all of this would be undone—the two of them were more willing to commit acts that they normally would not.
As such, Lazarus spared no hesitation in ending the lives of those he confronted.
He had just killed one of the last of the cultists when he felt something strong and heavy wrap itself around his ankle. He looked down just as he was being yanked into the air.
The Kraken had struck!
“Lazarus!” Gravedigger cried out. She leapt into the air, drawing her sword as she did so. Unfortunately, the Kraken’s tentacle was too high for her to strike and she was fearful of accidentally hitting her friend. She landed in a crouch, a string of obscenities escaping her tightly drawn lips.
The Peregrine ran to the edge of the deck and looked down as the Kraken emerged somewhat from the waters. It was drawing Lazarus down towards its beak-like mouth and The Peregrine took quick aim. His gun fired specially modified bullets of his own design. Though miniaturized so that he could fire a hundred before he needed to reload, each packed enough punch to bring down an elephant. He thought it made up for him not having thought of Gravedigger’s crossbow design.
Leaden death slammed into the Kraken and the waters quickly turned red. It didn’t have the intended effect, however, as it spurred the creature to submerge completely, dragging Lazarus kicking into the depths.
Gravedigger started to dive in after them but The Peregrine stopped her short.
“What are you doing?” she asked. “Lazarus is going to die!”
“He wouldn’t want you dying with him! None of us can do this alone and if it means sacrificing one of us so that two can continue, that’s what we have to do!”
The cold and bitter reality of The Peregrine’s words brought her up short. She looked like she might fight him on that point but she abruptly turned away, muttering, “Fine. But we have to give him a few minutes.” She entered the lower decks, adding, “I’m going to get the engine running.”
The Peregrine looked back down at the waters, which seemed quiet and still. He felt like a cad and considered abandoning his own advice to go in after Lazarus but his logic was sound and there would be no second chances when it came to their mission. If that meant making hard decisions, he was prepared to make them.
Seconds turned into minutes and the masked man’s shoulders slumped. It was time to go. He started to yell for Gravedigger when a sudden splashing below made him start. It was Lazarus, bursting out of the water, gasping for air. The Peregrine quickly tossed him a line and reeled him in, helping the soaked crime fighter to the deck.
“What the hell happened?” The Peregrine asked.
Lazarus spat out water. His arms were scratched and torn, leaving him bleeding from a dozen small wounds, but otherwise he looked intact. “The Kraken tried to eat me.”
“And?”
Lazarus held up a knife, covered in dripping gore. “He found me a little indigestible.”
The Peregrine smiled and helped Lazarus back to his feet. “Go inside and tell Charity that you’re alive. Then she can stop hating me and we can get on our way.”
Staggering somewhat, Lazarus moved away. He would enjoy the chance to recuperate on the way to Hy-Brasil. Normally such a journey would be next to impossible, given the distance and the lack of readily available fuel. In this case, however, they would be tapping into a portion of the magic in Catalyst’s gauntlet to speed them along. Since they didn’t want to use much of it—it would be needed for what they intended to do on the island, after all—the trip would still be a matter of days but that was far better than the weeks it would have taken otherwise.
The Peregrine watched his friend disappear belowdecks and for the first time in a long time, he felt hopeful that things were starting to go their way.
Hy-Brasil… and possible victory… lay in the future.
He couldn’t wait to seize it.
CHAPTER XV
Terror Takes Flight
“It’s all falling apart,” Himmler said. His hands shook badly as he raised the glass to his lips and took a sip. The alcohol burned its way down his throat but did nothing to steady him. “And it’s all my fault. I never should have—”
“Silence!” Goebbels barked. He rose from his seat in what had been The Füehrer’s Sovereign City office and stared at the macabre figure that entered the room.
It was The Mother of Pus, a name that was growing ever more apt. The beauty that her human host had once possessed had been fading for some time but the recent events had sped this transformation along. She looked like one of those Egyptian mummies now, devoid of the cloth that normally hid their cadaverous features. Her skin, sunken to the bones, was now dotted by open sores that leaked yellowish fluid.
“Mr. Death has returned?” she asked.
Goebbels glanced at Himmler and noted with disgust that the other man was incapable of answering. Standing up straighter, he answered, “He is now like his name would suggest—dead. To his credit, he took The Darkling with him. Their corpses are currently in storage.”
Darhoth waved a hand dismissively. “Burn them both. They are of no use to anyone and even though I hunger, I wouldn’t allow darkling’s flesh to touch my lips. Disgusting figure…”
Goebbels pressed on, realizing that with The Füehrer gone, someone would have to carry on in his name and Himmler was hardly the man to do so. Eager to gain favor with Darhoth, he said, “We have reports that Lazarus Gray, The Gravedigger and The Peregrine stole a boat from the harbor. We have no idea where they might be headed but they’ve left Sovereign. I think this gives us time to restore order and made preparations to move forward. I have already drafted a radio address to begin this process. In addition, I will proclaim a worldwide period of mourning for The Füehrer with a state funeral to follow in Berlin in one week’s time.”
“Let the carrion pick the flesh from his bones.”
Goebbels reacted as if he’d been slapped in the face. “Excuse me?”
“Your pitiful excuse for a leader! Throw his body outside so that the elements may do what they will with him.” Darhoth seethed now, her eyes boring into Goebbels’. “There will be no more coddling of your Nazi filth. You are slaves and that is the best you can hope for. Do as I command or you will join your master in death.”
Though he had never been the bravest of men, there was one aspect of Goebbels’ character that should never have been cast into doubt: his unswerving loyalty to Adolph Hitler. He pulled himself up to his full height and replied, “Absolutely not.”
Darhoth paused, obviously surprised by this act of disobedience.
Himmler, sensing that things were about to take a horrific turn, slid towards the door, easing out of it. He was ready to flee now, hoping against hope that he would find some means of survival outside of Sovereign City.
Meanwhile, Goebbels had reached down to the pistol he wore on his hip, drawing it forth with a shaking hand. He was thinking of his wife, Magda, and the children they both loved—Harald, Helga, Hildegard, Helmut, Holdine, Hedwig and Heidrun. They were such good children, even the most willful of them. He would be a good Nazi for them to the end, even if they could not be there to witness his act of heroism.
He pointed the pistol at Darhoth’s face and pulled the trigger. The bullets ripped through flesh and bone, reducing her already putrefying features to pure gore. Her body swayed before tumbling to the floor.
Goebbe
ls lowered his pistol, staring down at the mess and feeling strangely exhilarated. He had done it! He had killed the horrible harpy and, possibly, freed his people. Of course, Darhoth was only one of many monsters in this world but if they could be killed so easily, perhaps it had been nothing more than fear that had prevented humanity from discovering this already.
He turned his head, about to call for guards. They would dispose of this creature’s body and then start subtly rounding up her other followers that were about the Nazi headquarters. Once they had been dealt with, plans could be made for the larger monsters that lay outside the walls.
A strange sound gave him pause, however, and he turned to once more gaze upon Darhoth’s remains. Something strange was happening. Thick fluid resembling phlegm was oozing from all of the woman’s orifices. Goebbels gasped in horror as the fluid slid away from the body and began to rise, taking on a humanoid shape composed of blood, snot, saliva and other liquids.
An inhuman voice rose from the mixture. “Before, I was weak enough that I required a host to manifest in this world. That is no longer the case.”
“No,” the Nazi whispered, his eyes growing wide with terror.
“Did you think I would be so easily destroyed?” Darhoth asked.
Her right arm shot forth, elongating until it wrapped around the neck of the Third Reich’s propaganda minister. The lips which had produced so many lies were now reduced to babbling incoherently as the man reached up to vainly try and extricate himself from the superhumanly strong grip. His eyes bulged and his face turned blue before he succumbed to the inevitable.
Darhoth withdrew her limb, which returned to its original size. She could sense something in her mind—a word, sent to her by the Followers of the Bloody Goat, a scrying guild that served the Elder Gods. She had ordered them to find her missing prey, the vigilantes who had ruined her carefully sculpted plans. Obviously, they had found something… a location.
Hy-Brasil!
* * *
“That doesn’t look very hospitable.”
The Peregrine cracked a grin. Charity Grace was capable of understating the obvious like no woman he’d ever met before.
The three heroes stood on the deck of The Glass Throne, having just navigated through a rocky ring that surrounded Hy-Brasil. It had been treacherous going and, if not for the steady hand of the men commanding the vessel, they would have ended up in a watery grave.
A thick cloud of fog covered the island, making it nearly impossible to see what lay past the beach. They saw tall trees and a dense jungle, as well as a mountain that rose above the fog, but beyond that, it was utterly still and silent. They heard no birds, saw nothing moving on the beach or in the trees. Even the water seemed devoid of life.
“Where did this place come from?” Gravedigger asked.
“The old legends don’t say but if I had to hazard a guess, it’s someplace that became unstuck in time. It floats in and out of phase with the rest of the world.” The Peregrine pointed towards a set of trees that were now rustling. Through the fog, they saw something emerge onto the beach, an impossibility that made all of them stand and gawk. They were looking at some sort of large armored lizard—what the scientists termed a dinosaur.
“It’s a stegosaurus,” Lazarus Gray whispered. When he saw Gravedigger glance in his direction, he added, “A man named Marsh named it after discovering some bones in 1877. Originally, he thought the creature was some sort of aquatic turtle-like beast but after more complete skeletons were found, his view of the creatures was revised. The scientific community believes they walked the earth some 150 million years ago.”
The Peregrine shook his head. “Astonishing.”
“I wonder if we’ll retain our memories of all this when we change history,” Lazarus said. “If we do, the knowledge of this place might be put to good use. I think it’s too dangerous to leave unchecked. Perhaps there would be some way to block it off from those who would pervert its power.”
Gravedigger laughed coldly. “You’re getting ahead of yourself. We haven’t changed anything yet. And personally, I don’t want to remember all of this.” She exchanged a meaningful glance at Lazarus. “Even if I lost the memories of a few good things, I’d accept that to get back the life I used to have. For all its flaws, it was better than this world.”
Lazarus nodded. “Ultimately, I’d agree with that assessment.”
The Peregrine looked away. Those two were such odd people—both so unemotional at times, though he knew that they had passions that bubbled just beneath the surface. For his part, he didn’t care if he remembered this world or not. He just wanted to get back home to Evelyn and the life they were building in Atlanta. He wanted to see his housekeeper, Nettie, again and have a few drinks with his buddy Will McKenzie. Hell, he’d even be fine going back to facing criminal masterminds like the Warlike Manchu or Jacob Trench.
Anything would be better than a world ruled by Nazis and demons.
“Let’s get this over with,” he said.
* * *
Gravedigger’s legs ached by the time they stopped to set up camp for the night. Max had been insistent that they would know when to perform the magic ritual by the area in which they found themselves and, to this point, he was satisfied that they had reached the proper location.
Though they had traveled less than three miles from the beach, it had taken them long hours to do so. The vegetation was so dense that every step forward was an effort. The trio had mostly walked in silence, keeping their eyes and ears attuned to the noises around them. Several times they’d heard rustling in the leaves but they had seen nothing. There were definite signs that this island existed outside the normal flow of time, however: massive footprints that belonged to no modern beast; a vine-covered single-person aircraft made of some unknown, ultra-lightweight material; a set of encyclopedias dated 1954; and a piece of Roman Empire-era armor.
They finally decided to stop for the night on a hill that overlooked the dense jungle through which they had passed. Without discussing it, each fell into certain roles. Lazarus built a fire and got it going, while Charity disappeared into the jungle to find food. Max set about finding them some form of cover in case of rain. The stars were bright in the sky, though the constellations looked off somehow. He wondered if they were still in the same location that they were they had made landfall.
“So, what are we looking for?” Lazarus asked, sitting back and tossing a few sticks into the roaring fire he’d made.
Max glanced over and gave a crooked smile. “I’ll know it when I see it. I’ve been around enough magic to get a sense for it and this island is covered by it. But I want to find the right spot before we try to cross back into the past. If we screw this up, we’re done for. The entire world is done for.”
Lazarus said nothing in reply but his mind never ceased working. He wasn’t 100% sure where they would go when they opened the portal into the past. There was apparently a limit as to how far back they could go and still make changes. If that was so, he knew the day that seemed most appropriate and he had said as much to the others. He knew that they wondered if it wasn’t some sort of guilt on his part that he suggested it but it also made logical sense and, in the end, they had agreed to try that time period if they couldn’t go further back.
Lazarus wanted to return to the moment when Darhoth had appeared before him in Washington. That was when she’d revealed her full plan and unleashed the Elder Gods. But what if he hadn’t been alone? What if The Peregrine and Gravedigger had been there to strike her down before she could finish the summoning ritual? She’d wanted an audience, that much had been certain, so Lazarus was sure that she hadn’t completed the spell until the final moment, to be sure that he would bear witness to her victory. There would still be time to disrupt it.
Gravedigger returned, carrying the carcass of some sort of unusual rabbit. It was easily twice the size of the most common breeds, with slightly odd facial features, as well. Obviously, it was from some other
time, like so much else on this island.
“Anyone hungry?” Charity asked, holding the beast high.
“I’m starving,” Max replied. “And if it’s our last meal in this hell, then all the better!”
* * *
Night fell… and with it came danger.
The Peregrine had taken first watch, allowing his companions to fall into what he could tell was much-needed slumber. He reached up and scratched the stubble that lined his chin, wishing that he were back home in Atlanta. A nice, long soak in the tub followed by breakfast with his wife. That would be the perfect tonic for all the recent craziness.
Someday soon, I’m going to get that world back, he silently swore.
Max jumped as he heard the sound of a twig snapping nearby. He peered into the dark gloom of the jungle, thinking that he saw the shifting of shadowy figures, but he wasn’t certain that it wasn’t his mind playing tricks on him.
He drew out The Knife of Elohim, noting that while it glowed softly, it was not bright enough for him to fear anything supernatural. The background “field” of magic that permeated the world in its current state meant that The Knife never stopped glowing completely anymore. If there was danger in these jungles, it was of a natural kind—either men or beast.
The movement he had detected seemed to have ceased and he turned towards the others. To his surprise, he came face to face with a dark-skinned man whose body was covered with black powder. The man drove the hilt of a spear directly into Max’s jaw, knocking him to the ground. Before the hero could respond, a second blow sent him spiraling into unconsciousness.
Seven more men crept from the shadows, moving into the camp with the silence of well-trained hunters. The natives had watched the three visitors for over an hour, their gaze held firmly by one member of the party in particular.
As one, the men crowded around the sleeping form of Charity Grace. She was dressed in her Gravedigger uniform but her mask was stuffed into her belt and her hood was pulled back, revealing her lovely face and dark hair.